Crucio
by r3dn3ck.r0b82
Summary: Arthur confronts Albert Runcorn about turning in Dirk Cresswell- only this time, Runcorn is not Harry Potter under the disguise of the Polyjuice Potion.


_Oftentimes, people stop to think what could have happened in a particular event- if the circumstances were tweaked. Perhaps words were left unspoken or differently phrased. Perhaps opportunities were missed. Perhaps life henceafter would have been different. Whether the change was for good or for worse, we must be content with how things ended up. There is nothing a human can do, muggle or wizard, to change this. However, there are always the moments that could have been._

_I find myself wondering, what might have happened to Arthur Weasley if when he confronted Albert Runcorn, Runcorn hadn't been Harry under the disguise of the Polyjuice potion. How would things have ended up, Arthur speaking so boldly and rashly against this powerful adversary, at a time when the Voldemort's Death Eaters had all-but taken over the Ministry? How might things have played out?_

Tall, thin, and slightly balding, Arthur Weasley stood waiting for the lift. His hands were casually jammed into his pockets as he looked good-naturedly from behind his glasses at his good friend Wakanda, the old witch with the blonde ant-hill hair. The lift finally clattered into place, and they both stepped inside, Wakanda clutching a pile of papers.

"I quite understand what you're saying, Wakanda, but I'm afraid I cannot be party to-" Arthur broke off, having noticed who else was in the lift. His eyes narrowed sharply, eyebrows contracted, and his lips pressed thin. Wakanda looked in the same direction he was looking, to see what, or who, in this case, Arthur was glaring at. Tall, dark, and sinister, Albert Runcorn stood in the middle of the lift- a bloody Death-Eater if he'd ever known one. A pure-blood maniac, a hater of muggles, muggle-borns, and blood-traitors alike- and standing next to him was Reg Cattermole, whose wife was muggle-born, and who was staring back at Arthur as if he'd seen a ghost. The sight was odd to Arthur, who would have never pictured them standing so close. Perhaps Runcorn had just been threatening poor Reg- after all, they had been talking until he had stepped in...

Cattermole looked as if he'd just swam in a lake fully-clothed, sopping wet, and he was still staring at Arthur. Trying to ignore his intense dislike of Runcorn, Arthur greeted Reg Cattermole with an attempted smile. The poor man was going through a lot, he knew- his poor wife, Mary, was being questioned today by the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. He started to speak as the lift began to clatter downwards.

"Oh, hello, Reg," he said, noting how truly sopping the poor man's robes were, "Isn't your wife in for questioning today? Er- why are you so wet?" he couldn't help but asking, and Cattermole looked at him with that pale, startled look. He seemed to shift awkwardly.

"Yaxley's office is raining," he said, more addressing Mr. Weasley's shoulder than his face. He didn't seem to want to talk. Arthur realized that he must be ashamed of something- perhaps he _had _just walked in on Runcorn bullying poor Cattermole. His hatred towards Runcorn magnified tenfold. "I couldn't stop it, they've sent me to get Bernie- Pillsworth, I think they said-"

"Yes, a lot of offices have been raining lately," Arthur said, trying to be kind to Reg Cattermole, sure that he was being bullied by the great brute Runcorn. "Did you try Meteolojinx Recanto? It worked for Bletchley."

Cattermole seemed to look a little brighter- it obviously had not come to mind before.

"Meteolojinx Recanto?" he seemed to whisper, thinking. "No, I didn't. Thanks, Arthur."

The lift doors opened, and Cattermole scurried flusteredly out after Wakanda, who left, giving Arthur an awkward wave as she went. Runcorn seemed to want to leave as well, but he was blocked by a red-haired, bespectacled someone with their nose buried in a load of papers. Arthur felt another anger rise inside him- this one laced with an aching, saddened pain as he registered that his son had gotten in the lift. Arthur didn't know whether he wanted to try to talk amiably with his son or punch him in the face- instead, he just glared straight ahead, nails digging into his palms.

It wasn't until the lift doors clanged shut that Percy Weasley realized he was standing next to his father. He glanced up from his papers, saw his father staring blindly forward with his jaw clenched and a strained expression on his violently red face, and looked hurriedly back down, his face quickly approaching the same color. The lift was filled with an awkward silence, the only sound being the grating of the lift. Arthur felt inside him an intense longing to be able to hug his son, to be able to talk with him like they once had, as father and son. He opened his mouth to speak after a moment, attempting a brave stab at conversation, but the lift door clanged open and Percy stormed out without looking back once at his father. Arthur was furious. Runcorn made again to leave, but Arthur held out an arm in front of Runcorn- delaying him until the gate had closed again.

"One moment, Runcorn." he growled, frustration and fury for both Percy and Runcorn trying to break loose inside him. He was feeling strangely confrontational, and like an angsty teenager, he didn't care what happened. Runcorn growled menacingly back, apparently mad that this worthless blood-traitor was blocking his way. He glared at Mr. Weasley, as if demanding to know why he'd prevented him from getting off the lift.

"I heard you laid information about Dirk Cresswell."

Runcorn simply raised an eyebrow. Yeah, so what? _And how did this blood-traitor fool know about this, when strictly nobody was supposed to tell him anything? _

"Sorry?" Runcorn growled at Mr. Weasley, who glared right back, despite being considerably shorter and less-muscled than the extremely tall and burly Runcorn. Arthur scowled at Runcorn.

"Don't pretend, Runcorn," he said fiercely, leaning forward on his toes towards Runcorn as if daring him to hit him. "You tracked down the wizard who faked his family tree, didn't you?" His eyes were blazing fiercely, and Runcorn seemed a little taken aback.

"I- so what if I did?" he growled at Mr. Weasley, crossing his thick, corded arms rather threateningly. Arthur Weasley didn't seem to notice- or if he did, he wasn't letting it show.

"So Dirk Cresswell is ten times the wizard you are," Arthur said quietly as the lift rattled lower into the depths of the Ministry. "And if he survives Azkaban, you'll have to answer to him, not to mention his wife, his sons, and his friends-" WHAM.

Arthur seemed to fly across the lift as Albert Runcorn's mighty fist took him in a hook to the face. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he flew backwards, his glasses flew off his face, and he hit the wall with a sickening thud. The lift clanged open, and Runcorn stepped forward, intentionally crunching Arthur's glasses underfoot as he left, throwing one last scathing look at the stunned red-head man slumped against the wall of the lift.

Arthur clutched his ringing head for a moment as he scrabbled to his knees, and spat a glob of blood onto the floor of the lift. He could scarcely see- where were his glasses? He felt wildly about for his glasses, until his fingers brushed against the jagged and broken glass. He seized them, and fumbled about in his pocket for his wand. "O-_Oculus Reparo_," he said quietly, and the spectacles instantly repaired themselves. Jamming them on his nose, he stalked out of the lift after Runcorn, who was nearing the end of the hall, his blood boiling- _"STUPEFY!"_

Runcorn turned around just in time to avoid the jet of red light coming at him- it streaked past him, blasting a hole in the wall behind him. A portrait of a former ministry witch screamed, and she ran through to the next frame. Runcorn's wand lashed up through the air. _"Confringo!" _

His wand spat a vicious jet of fire at Arthur, who had been running full-tilt towards him- he just managed to duck down enough to avoid getting blasted in the face. He felt the scorching heat sear overhead, smelled the acrid stench of burned hair, and hit the ground in a roll, coming up several feet to his left.

_"Stupefy_!" he spat, blood spraying from his lips.

Once again, Runcorn maneuvered out of the way of Mr. Weasley's Stunner, and with a furious expression, slashed a purple, fiery X in his direction. Arthur had barely enough time to shield himself- the curse blasted through his weak force-field, knocking him off his feet. Luckily, he had generated enough of a force-field, so the curse did little more than cause him momentary pain as he rolled back to his feet.

_"Tarantallegra!" _he hollered, sending a jinx Runcorn's way- just as easily as before, Runcorn dodged it, snarling scornfully.

"Come on Weasley, blood traitor, can't you fight better than that? _Crucio!"_ The curse flew wide to Arthur's left, blasting a crater in the far wall. Arthur sent a bolt of white fire towards Runcorn, who waved it away with a lazy flick of his wand. "Come on!"

Arthur ran forward with a yell, wand raised and firing off Stunning spell after Stunning spell. Runcorn just managed to deflect the barrage, screaming _"Protego!" _The spells flew back at Arthur, who dove to the floor just in time, nearly too late- he hit the ground hard, and was knocked breathless-

_"Crucio!" _

It was pain beyond pain- his very soul was on fire, agony venting from every pore of his body- he curled up on the ground, screaming in torture, legs curled up to his chest- and then it was over, and he lay on the ground, gasping, trembling, and covered in icy sweat. Runcorn stepped over him, a wolfish smile on his face.  
"A taste of real pain, I think," he said, standing over his prey with a hungry look in his eye, his wand pointed at Arthur's heaving chest. Arthur had only a split- second to act.

_"Petrificus Totalus,"_ Arthur cried, scrambling to his feet, wand waving wildly. Runcorn fell backwards, eyes wide- Arthur's jinx had hit him right in the face. He hit the ground with a thud, shaking the walls at his impact. He lay there, stiff as a board, but his eyes still furiously staring at Arthur, who, trembling, grabbed Runcorn's wand from where it lay on the floor. Arthur backed away, clutching his chest. He needed to get away from here-

_"CRUCIO!"_ another voice sounded from the left, and Arthur managed to duck just in time to avoid getting hit by another Cruciatus Curse. A group of people had come around the corner- Arthur recognized them briefly as Death Eaters, every last one of them. Travers, Yaxley, Mulciber, and Malfoy- Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy raised his wand, Arthur whipping his around at exactly the same moment-

_"Petrificus T-AAAGH!"_ He hit the ground, writhing, as Lucius' curse hit him squarely in the chest. Again, it was unbearable pain, causing him to scream at the top of his lungs, legs thrashing on the ground- he tried to fight it, but he couldn't- the pain was too great. It was a full minute before the pain subsided, and Arthur opened his tear-streaked eyes to see the group of Death-Eaters standing over him, Runcorn having rejoined them as Yaxley had released him from Arthur's invisible bonds. The group was clustered tight around him. Lucius Malfoy, his pale face alight with triumph, was standing directly overhead. His mouth tautened in a smirk.

"Well well, Weasley Senior," he said in his rich drawl, grinning triumphantly down at his prey. "Crying, are we? Is the pain too much for you to bear?" Desperately looking about for assistance, Arthur did not answer. Why was nobody coming to his aid? Surely, someone had heard the commotion besides this lot- he gasped with pain as he received a kick in the ribs from Mulciber.

"Answer!" Mulciber hissed, and Arthur flinched, but did not answer. Lucius, waiting for the answer that would make him feel powerful, tapped his wand against his sleeve, red sparks spitting from its tip. Arthur did not reply. Lucius waited for a moment, and shrugged, smirking down at Mr. Weasley, who lay shaking beneath him, white as a sheet and drenched with sweat.

"Fine then, another taste, I think- _Crucio_!" Again, it was pain like no other, unendurable agony, surely, a prelude to death- The Death Eaters laughed as Arthur Weasley thrashed around at their feet, reveling in the blood-traitor's suffering. Lucius, smirking, held out the Cruciatus Curse longer than before. He, especially, was enjoying this- Arthur Weasley had been his enemy for so long... This group of Death-Eaters had been waiting for so long, plotting how to rid the ministry of this treacherous, muggle-loving blight- to remove another Order spy. But for Lucius, this was more.

He watched his enemy's body twitch in the rictus of pain, watched his enemy spit blood, listened to the terror and agony in the screaming voice, reveled in his revenge.

At last, he lowered his wand, and simply listened to the man sobbing before him. He watched the thin chest judder jerkily up and down, watched the tears slide down the deathly pale face, watched the blood drip from the corner of his mouth. Lucius noticed the wand laying near Arthur's head, and bent down to pick it up. Still smirking, Malfoy turned to Runcorn.

"I would have thought you could beat this filth, Albert," he said, nudging Mr. Weasley roughly with the toe of his magnificent and gleaming boot. Arthur Weasley whimpered, and Lucius looked down at him, disgusted. Runcorn shifted, looking grumpy, and took his wand from Malfoy's hand.

"I almost had him," he growled, glaring down at the prone form of the blood-traitor. "I would have had him if you lot hadn't interfered," he said, and Travers laughed.

"You were in a body-bind, Runcorn! How could you beat him when you couldn't move so much as a finger?" Runcorn, looking suddenly furious, didn't answer.

Meanwhile, the bloody-faced Mr. Weasley was beginning to stir. His trembling hand felt for his wand, which was laying half-under him. All he knew was that he needed to get out of here. His fingers closed around the handle of his wand. Nobody had noticed his movement, as they were now very much absorbed in conversation.

"So what should we do with the muggle-lover?" asked Mulciber, fingering his own wand deftly, twirling it between his fingers. Travers shrugged.

"Can't leave him here- but you know, it's not like anyone gives a damn for him anyways," he growled, taking a step backwards. "We'd be doing a favor if we finished him off," he added. Runcorn vehemently agreed.

"He threatened me, you know- confronted me about turning in that bloody fool, Cresswell- never thought the blood-traitor had the nerve-" he glared down at the prone form, teeth bared, "Punched him in the face, I did, and left. Next thing I knew, this _filth," _he emphasized his hatred for Arthur by kicking him brutally in the ribs, "was attacking me." The other Death Eaters all looked down at their panting, dry-sobbing victim with distaste. Arthur's eyes were screwed up with the pain, and he had rolled onto his side and curled up. He was readying himself to attempt an escape- he had to get out of here. They were going to kill him if he didn't-

"Well, finish him off here then, Runcorn," said Lucius Malfoy softly, gazing with interest at the face of his enemy, his adversary of many years. He was going to die now- Lucius wondered what the poor fool's overgrown family would do when they found out he was dead. He pictured the many children and dumpy wife sobbing in agonized grief, and smirked at the thought. He also thought of how stunned the cursed Order of the Phoenix would be when one of their eyes in the ministry was found to be dead. He was glad that his enemy had finally gathered enough courage to confront one of his own enemies- for now he was going to die-

"STUPEFY!" Arthur cried, rolling to his feet. Mulciber and Yaxley flew backwards, stunned, taking down Lucius Malfoy with them- Arthur ran right past them. He tore off down the hallway, running as fast as his tortured legs would let him. He had to get away- he didn't want to die, he didn't want to leave his wife and children all alone-

"GET HIM!" Lucius Malfoy screamed from where he lay on the floor, trapped by Mulciber's heavy body. Arthur heard footsteps behind him, saw beams of green and red light pass him. The wall beside him burst into flames at a spell's impact, and he scrambled away from the roiling flames, pointing his wand over his shoulder and indiscriminately firing off jinxes. He heard someone scream and fall as one of his jinxes hit the mark.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

Arthur stumbled as the killing curse shot over his head, ruffling his hair. His shoulder brushed the wall and he just managed to keep going, pushing off the wall with his right hand.

"Stupefy!" he cried as he turned onto another corridor- surely, someone was around that could help- this was madness, Death Eaters running amok in the Ministry- he'd known that they were in the Ministry, but to the extent that he was running for his life? Another killing curse shot vivid green inches from his face, but he kept running- someone had to help him, he couldn't keep running forever... Apparition- damn it, he couldn't apparate, the ministry now had charms in place to prevent anyone from apparating in and out of the building... but he had to get out somehow...

A red beam flew past him just to his right, and another hit the wall ten feet in front of him- how was he going to escape? His breath was coming in bursts now- he wasn't used to running like this any more. His limbs were terribly weak from the Cruciatus Curse, and there was a terrible stitch in his side. There was a roar of triumph from behind him as Lucius Malfoy came to the head of the pack, having freed himself; Arthur looked over his shoulder as he was running, and saw the look of triumph on Malfoy's face- and suddenly, he was falling-

As he fell, Arthur grabbed at a portrait on the wall, seizing the frame to keep upright- it came off the wall, the wizard inside it protesting and running out of the picture just in time- and Arthur had an escape at last. Fumbling with the great framed canvas, he pointed his wand to it- _"Portus,"_ he gasped, and the entire frame and canvas turned a bright, glowing blue.

"NO! STOP HIM!" screeched Lucius Malfoy, realizing what was happening. Arthur was creating an unauthorized portkey. He was going to escape. There was a furious bellow from Runcorn, who was just behind Lucius Malfoy, and another killing curse narrowly missed Arthur. _Come on, come on,_ he thought desperately, as the portkey seemed to warm itself up for transport. He could be dead any second now... he kept firing jinxes over his shoulder at his pursuers as he ran, willing the portkey to hurry up and whisk him away already-

_"CRUCIO!" _

The world exploded in a blast of agony as two Cruciatus Curses struck him at the same time, Arthur writhing and falling atop the portrait as he convulsed in the painful rictus. He couldn't stand this much longer- the pain was so extreme that he would surely die- This time, it felt like he was being blasted away by the Cruciatus Curse, like his lungs were being forcibly deflate, like he was being sucked through a tight vacuum, and in such agony... He was going to die, he was never going to see his family again- their faces ran through his mind. Molly, poor Molly... she'd be so distraught, and the kids- Bill Charlie, Fred, George, Ginny, Ron, wherever he was, and even Percy... he was going to die without telling his son he loved him... He clutched the portrait frame beneath him, unknowingly, his wand trapped beneath his arm. Tears poured down Arthur's face as the painful vacuum feeling got worse- the Cruciatus Curse was suffocating him as well, now- or maybe he'd been hit with Avada Kedavra... Well, either way, he was surely dying...

"ARTHUR!" Molly screamed, dropping the vase she had been placing on the mantel. The family heirloom shattered into a thousand pieces on the floor, but Molly hadn't at all noticed- the only thing that mattered to her was her husband, who had suddenly appeared out of thin air, clutching a great battered canvas portrait and looking as if he was close to death.

"Arthur!"

His face was deathly pale, blood still leaking from the corner of his mouth. He was shaking violently, clutching the portrait as if it would hold him to life. Molly had thrown herself down to his side, where he lay eagle-spread in the middle of the room. She was sobbing uncontrollably at the sight of her husband, and was shaking him as if to wake him up. "Arthur, what's happened to you?" she cried, her tears falling onto his face as she tried to wake him up. He whimpered, stirring.

"No, please, not again," he begged her, eyes screwed shut. His hands shot up, clutching feebly at her wrist. "Please, anything but that... The pain, the pain..." he sobbed, shaking. Molly stared at him with horror, not knowing what was happening, and clutched him to her.

"Arthur, what's wrong? Oh Arthur, what's happened to you?" she cried, holding his head to her chest and sobbing in terror. She had no idea what had happened, what was wrong with him, or what she should do.

"I don't want to die, please don't make me die," Arthur pleaded, and Molly sobbed even harder.

"Arthur! It's Molly! What's wrong with you?" she wept, tears spilling down her face and into his hair.

"I don't want to die, Molly, I don't want to die..."

"You're alive, Arthur, you're alive,"

"I don't want to die..."

"I won't let you die, Arthur!"  
"Molly, don't let me die..."

"I won't, Arthur, I won't!" she cried, rocking back and forth, brushing his hair from his forehead as she sobbed. "I won't let you die!"

And she sat there, with his head in her lap, sobbing and willing him not to die. Arthur, somewhere in his brain that was still capable of thought, was reckoning that he would be dead soon, as now Molly was talking to him in his head. "I love you, Molly," he said, and was rewarded with another burst of crying.

"I love you too, Arthur," she sobbed, somewhere in his head.

"Take care of the kids," he told her. Molly's vice cried even harder.

"You're not going to die, Arthur Weasley! Do you hear me? Arthur Septimus Weasley, you will not die on me, do you hear?"

Arthur's eyes opened. It was a while before he could see, but when his vision at last cleared, he was staring into Molly's tear-streaked face. _"Molly,"_ he breathed, relief flooding his senses. Molly really was there. He wasn't going to die. She smiled down at him.

"Arthur," she croaked, tears slipping down her cheeks.

"I love you," he said softly, his hand reaching out to touch her hair, finding it was real, that _she_ was real, and that he was alive... Molly's hand closed gently around his, holding it to her cheek.

"Everything's going to be okay, Arthur, I promise."


End file.
